


darkest before the dawn

by haipollai



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Steve in the gym
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/pseuds/haipollai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve knows it's probably his own fault. It's easier to simply not deal with things. He had promised himself he would come to terms with Bucky's death but that was before he had to add Peggy, Gabe, Jim, Jacques and even Colonel Phillips to his list of people to mourn. Too many deaths and he can finally feel them dogging his heels, reaching out and wondering why he hasn't joined them. What makes him so damn special.</p>
<p>Steve doesn't watch the punching bag go flying and hit the ground with a thud. It echoes in the quiet gym. Hollow and meaningless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	darkest before the dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lanyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/gifts).



He's not angry, or upset. He's not much of anything really, all those emotions, the ones that fed into his art, that helped him smile when his entire life was shit (except for one shining light but it hurts even more to think about that) are all gone. Not gone, he's shoved them so far back not sure how to deal with them. He tries. He goes out into the city, he watches people bustle around. Some things never change. New York is alive, a beating, pulsing heart. He used to feel like he could reach out a hand and feel it pounding away (it was never the city's pulse under his fingers though, never so literally). But now it's as if there's a wall. Something cutting him off.

Steve knows it's probably his own fault. It's easier to simply not deal with things. He had promised himself he would come to terms with Bucky's death but that was before he had to add Peggy, Gabe, Jim, Jacques and even Colonel Phillips to his list of people to mourn. Too many deaths and he can finally feel them dogging his heels, reaching out and wondering why he hasn't joined them. What makes him so damn special.

Steve doesn't watch the punching bag go flying and hit the ground with a thud. It echoes in the quiet gym. Hollow and meaningless.

He doesn't even know what fights to pick in this new world. Bucky would laugh-

He turns stiffly to get another bag but the thought doesn't go away. Bucky would laugh at him. Steve Rogers without a fight, who would have thought he'd ever see the day.

Steve swallows hard and sinks slowly to his knees. He's sure SHIELD has cameras watching him, (he's seen how tiny the cameras are these days, they could be anywhere) watching the great Captain America break. No one seems to remember that underneath the mask was a person. He watched one of the movies, made in the 80s, and there was nothing of him in it. _Like watching Hodge in your clothes,_ Bucky's voice says in his head.

"Shut up," Steve whispers.

_Idiot, arguing with yourself._

He buries his head in his hands. He feels old and small and frail. Lost in a world that's too big. But he's not one for sitting around feeling sorry for himself. Slowly he makes his way to his feet. (Feet that aren't his, too big, too muscled, remember when-) From there he manages to stand straight. There's a mirror on the wall and he looks at himself. His hair is a mess, something he never would have allowed in the past, but men seem to purposefully look disheveled these days.

"I helped save the world," he tells his reflection. His voice falls flat in the open space, he makes himself keep talking. "Still can't talk to ladies, but never really wanted to." He laughs flatly and picks up another punching bag. It's heavy but he forces his arms to lift it. He's strong. He's a super soldier. Erskine died making it happen and he won't let this destroy him. Tomorrow he'll go out into the world, he'll break down the walls he's thrown up.

_Yea right,_ that voice that sounds so much like Bucky but he knows isn't (his subconscious would haunt him with Bucky Barnes). Bucky's dead. _You're going to come back here you wuss. Tomorrow and the day-_

Steve punches the bag.

_the day after-_

Steve punches it again and the voice feels a little further away.

_the day after that-_

He tightens his chest, pushing everything away. Tomorrow. Tonight he'll drink a bottle of cheap vodka in honor of the awful moonshine two stupid boys used to drink together, claiming it was only to get warm (kisses to get warm, groping fingers all to get warm). Tomorrow he'll try to be human again even if the one man who knows better than anyone how to make Steve Rogers human isn't with him.

Someone clears their throat but he ignores it. The only people who seek him out anymore are SHIELD agents and if they have anything to say they can simply say it. He won't stand on ceremony for them.

"Come on pal, turn your butt around." The voice is choked up, holding back emotions. Steve can't turn because that voice belongs to a dead man. Maybe he's finally lost his mind. "Steve." A hand touches his shoulder. It's cool, hard. There's no give to the fingers and he instinctively jerks away. "Fuck, sorry. Come on Steve, whatever you're thinking it's wrong."

"What am I thinking?" He whispers, not even sure why he's entertaining conversation with a voice that can't be real outside his own head. Maybe he's too desperate for any sound but the sound of talking to himself.

"You're thinking you've gone nuts. Which makes a lot of sense, I know- I fell Steve but it's so complicated and we don't have time-"

Steve twists finally, a retort that he has nothing but time now and this is low even for Fury already on his tongue but it catches in his throat. Twists up his air and chokes him. Bucky looks back at him. He's aged, not a lot but Steve has always known Bucky's face better than his own. "But-"

"Told you, it's a long story, but you're here so why not me?" There's a hint of a pout on his lips, a hint of scowl and a smile. His emotions are as wrecked as Steve's. He touches Steve's chest and this time the hand is warm. His fingertips are rough when they brush over Steve's collarbone, up to the pounding of his pulse. "Oh god you're here." A wall comes crashing down and Steve yanks Bucky to him, clinging to him, burying his head in his hair. It's cropped short and tickles his nose. Bucky's fingers twist in his shirt, gripping as tightly as Steve.

"Where the hell have you been?" His face hurts. He forgot what it was like to smile, the muscles are out of practice.

"I-" Bucky laughs roughly and kisses him. Steals all of Steve's breath but Bucky can hold him up. "You've missed a lot Rogers."

"Sorry, got held up. Traffic."

Bucky laughs again and Steve can't breathe. In trying not to think about Bucky, in how everything hurt, he forgot how beautiful he was. Is. "You're still you." There's pain somewhere in his expression. Memories that Steve doesn't know or share. Secrets.

"Tell me what happened, please."

"On the way. We've got a long flight, lot to fill you in on." He reaches for Steve's hand, pressing their palms together and entwining their fingers. "Stark fished out that damn cube from the ocean and all the good guys' plans have backfired. Got to go save the day, you in?"

Steve stares at their hands. It's too much. It's not real. Except it is. "Do I have to wear tights?"

"You look good in tights." Bucky stays close to him, leading Steve out of the gym and towards the subway. He doesn't let go of Steve's hand because they can do that now. Maybe this new world isn't so bad. Maybe he has a way of feeling it's pulse and being part of it. "I'm real Steve," Bucky leans into murmur over the noise of the city.

"It's a lot." He runs his thumb over Bucky's knuckles, finding the old scar from when he punched someone when he was fourteen and caught their fillings instead of teeth.

Bucky squeezes his hand tightly. "Fury or Natasha can probably tell the story better than me, I was- I wasn't present for a lot of it." The pain is back but it's easier to deal with someone else's pain. He knows how to help Bucky and leans in to kiss his temple. It is easier to pretend strength for someone else than when he's alone. If he pretends enough, it'll be real because Bucky's real. "We'll go to your place, get some things then head out?" They've stopped outside a subway station.

"Where are we going?"

Bucky's eyes sparkle (Bucky walks beside him down an alleyway with a beat up newspaper, 'the future' he says and his eyes sparkle). "Surprise. Come on, you gotta tell me how you've been. You been eating? Your fucking metabolism means you better be eating." He starts down the stairs, still talking. Still holding Steve's hand. He's still real.

"Mother hen," Steve teases.

Bucky pauses at the bottom of the stairs. "It's been months without you Steve. I miss you. I- I know how you must have felt. After I fell."

Steve catches him with a kiss. He expects someone to swoop him, tell them they can't, they're gross. But he can defend Bucky these days and he can fight for this. "I don't know how the hell you're here, but you'll tell me later and we won't think about this for awhile. Okay?"

Bucky smiles. Worn and relieved. Like someone has sandpapered all of his edges but still Bucky. "Okay. Let's go before Fury sends in a search and rescue team."

-

He falls asleep on the Quinjet, worn out from all the ups and downs. His stomach is twisted in knots, relief and pain and fear and love each with their own tangle. Bucky's arm is snug around his shoulders and he feels something like safe. Like the world is something manageable with Bucky's heartbeat beating under his ear. He dreams of loneliness. Of soldiers bleeding red and Bucky dragging him out of the muck of war.

He dreams of a lot of things.

But in the end he wakes up and Bucky is warm where they're pressed together.


End file.
